


From MI6, with Love

by Nanimok



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dubious Consent, Gunplay, M/M, Post-Canon, Rimming, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25101940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: prompt: MI6 think that Yassen's failure to kill Alex is because he's attracted to him, and they try to use that to catch Yassen by using Alex as bait in a honeypot mission.Only problem is, Alex has no idea that's what the real mission is.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 135
Collections: Alex Rider Kinkmeme





	From MI6, with Love

He gives Alex two weeks before he's gathered enough information to break into the Principal's office. For all the money Peresvet invested in his pet project, the security in his boarding school is nothing to flaunt about. Indeed, Yassen only had to wait for twelve minutes before the door knob of Peresvet's office turns incriminatingly.

"Little Alex Rider," says one supposedly dead Yassen Gregorovich. "I am not surprised at all."

Alex looks—older. Burdened. He is taller, his shoulders are broader, and his jaw is firmer, although he never truly lost his cheeks. He looks older in a manner which results from exhaustion more so than age. It has been four years since Yassen last saw him. He had hoped Alex found the good sense to leave this life behind. The moment he saw Alex's picture pop up in the school database, however, was the moment he knew that this was not the case. And because this was not the case, Yassen began his research and his planning.

"I am," Alex blurts out, still kneeling on the floor. "You're dead."

Yassen raises one eyebrow, before waving at his very much corporeal body.

Alex doesn't move a muscle but Yassen gets the feel that he almost rolled his eyes.

He likes to consider himself untouched by time. It seems that Alex Rider's attitude is of the same manner.

"Why don't you come in and close the door?" Yassen says. He taps his index finger on the trigger like the tick, tick, tick of a clock.

He can see Alex consider making a run for it. Yassen might hold fond feelings for Alex, but he won't hesitate to shoot. A job is still a job. The chance of someone else walking by are slim; no one will be walking these hallways in the next twenty-minutes. It's exactly why Alex chose now to break into the Principal's office.

"Alex," he warns.

Alex swallows and slowly, he stands. Yassen watches as he unfolds his body from the ground.

The door closes with a resolute click.

"Good," Yassen says. "Now you can begin by telling me why you are here."

Yassen already knows. He only wants to make sure.

Alex chews on his words. "Your friend Peresvet is an interesting guy."

"Yes," Yassen says. Peresvet is not his friend, but he says nothing more. He's not one to judge.

"He has a lot of armed guards around the place."

"Many people do."

"People are interested in what he's doing to the boys at his school," Alex says, scrunching his nose.

Yassen tilts his head slightly. Unlike his father, Alex Rider is a horrible liar. So even though what Alex is saying is the truth, it's not the complete truth.

"'People' already know what he's doing to those boys," Yassen says. "They already have proof."

Within a second, Alex's whole face turns red.

"I see," Yassen says. "They want more than proof."

Alex doesn't nod, and his eyes briefly bounces to his gun. The curve on his throat bobs

Interesting. Yassen know that MI6 has enough proof to lock away Peresvet in the darkest room they have, if they so much had the inkling to. The reason they haven't, however, is because Peresvet, with all his money and his connections, is infinitely more useful for MI6 out here than in prison. Yassen wonders if Alex knows this, if he knows why he was sent to this school shortly after Peresvet insisted for Yassen's services.

The more Alex fidgets on his feet, the more Yassen is convinced.

Oh, Alex is a honeypot alright. Only, it's not for Peresvet.

His afternoon is looking better by the moment.

"Hmm," Yassen says. "What to do... what to do..."

"Let me go?" Alex asks hopefully.

Yassen hums amusedly. His gun doesn't twitch.

He will have to deal with Peresvet later, that much is clear. There is still honor among thieves, despite how little it may exist. Yassen took this job because he owed Parasvet in the past. Yassen knows that MI6 had already heard of the rumors of his survival, but for them to send Alex confirms his suspicion of their certainty.

Yassen pushes his chair away from the desk. "Come here," he orders.

"What?"

"Come here."

Warily, Alex walks around the desk. The school uniform is tightly pressed, his tie is straight, and the blazer is a sharp shade of red. He had always thought the colour was garish but on Alex, it doesn't look that bad. Yassen has always admired a man in uniform. When Alex stops in front of him, Yassen can still smell hints of fresh laundry, and the heat of an iron on his clothes. They are close enough that Yassen could settle his hands comfortably onto Alex's hips and pull him onto his lap.

"Turn around."

Alex jolts. "What?"

Yassen doesn't repeat himself. He just presses the gun to Alex's sternum.

"Geez, alright," Alex mumbles, although Yassen could see the tightness creasing his mouth as he turns around. "Don't get your knickers in a knot."

"Hands on the table."

"Look," Alex says. "Can you just shoot me so we can skip all this weird roleplaying?"

"Oh, Alex," Yassen says. He really doesn't know why he's here, does he? "I can shoot you, or I can do things which are considerably more painful."

"Do I have a choice?"

"No," Yassen admits. "I suppose I can kill you when I tire of this. And I am getting really, really tired, Alex."

He pushes the gun until it meets Alex's lower back.

Yassen can hear Alex swallowing again, before he ultimately spreads his palms on the table. Yassen doesn't hesitate. He snakes his fingers under the bottom of Alex's blazers and into his pants. The tag scratches his finger. To his pleasant surprise, Alex is not wearing any underwear. Where Yassen expects fabric, there is none. There is Alex's golden skin, and two tight straps cupping it. It's a shock of warmth in the office's coldness. Soft where it divots under Yassen's calloused fingers. Firm in the tightness of his muscles. Yassen never minded hair, but Alex is gift-wrapped to Yassen's complete liking.

Alex almost jumps over the table from his touch. "What are you doing?" Alex almost squeaks.

Yassen can hear a flutter of panic in his voice. Good. "Did you know," Yassen says, as his fingers kept exploring, "that you have a tracker sewn into the band of your pants?"

Alex stills. "No, I didn't."

So yes, he did. His voice is too flat. Yassen supposes that it can't be too comfortable where it sits. "It's the thinnest I've ever seen yet. Your Smithers is an impressive man."

"I don't know anyone called that."

"I'm sure you don't."

"Smithers is such a dumb name anyway," Alex mutters.

"The first honest thing you've said in this office," Yassen agrees. "So what was your plan, Alex? Let Peresvet fuck you on his cock? Ride him until he passed out, then call in your backup? You don't need to break into his office for that."

"I—no!" Alex fumes. "Don't be so crass!"

Yassen pull one jockstrap back and lets it slap against Alex's ass. Alex almost jumps from the shock.

"Poor Alex Rider," Yassen says, tracing the edges of Alex's jockstrap with his finger. "So patriotic at heart. What was the phrase... You will only have to lie back and think of England, will you not?"

"They wanted me to," Alex finally admits in a strained voice. "I—Peresvet keeps pictures on his computer. He let it slip because he's a bloody perv. I can just bring that to them and it'll be the same thing, right?"

_ Oh, Alex,  _ Yassen thinks. His hand slips out of Alex's pants and spreads his fingers over one cheek, liking the way his hand looks on Alex's ass. _ He really doesn't know. _

"What do they have on you to warrant such service? Does your American friend's scholarship really mean that much?" Yassen asks, even as Alex stiffens under him. "Her father is a very rich man, Alex. He can afford her schooling."

"How did you..."

"I do my research."

"It's just not right," Alex says. "She worked hard for it."

"She is rich and she has time. That is much more than others have. She will land on her feet." Yassen squeezes his ass. "You should be more worried about your own future. But you are lucky, I suppose. I can help you, Alex."

"Yeah, right." Alex scoffs. "You literally have a gun to my back."

"At least I am honest about it. Which is more than what your government can say about themselves."

"But you said you can help me."

"I can."

"Why can't you just help me by letting me go?"

"I don't want to," Yassen says simply, patting his ass. "I may be more receptive to your ideas if you took your pants off, however."

"Are you serious?"

Even through his pants, Yassen could pinch and pull back Alex's jockstraps again. So that's what he does. "Deadly serious," Yassen says drily, digging the gun into his back. "Now, strip."

Yassen can hear Alex take a deep breath, before shaky hands come up to his hips, and he shimmies his pants down his leg. Yassen is treated to the sight of tight muscles contracting as he kicks his pants off to the side.

"You," Alex bites out, "are just as much as a perv as Peresvet. Is that why you two get along?"

"That reminds me," Yassen says. "We should do something about your mouth. How about your tie?"

"What?"

"I suggest you shut yourself up using your tie or I can rip off your measly underwear and do it for you, yes?"

His hands jerk, before he quickly comes up and undoes his tie. Instead of tying it around his head, like Yassen expected him to, Alex bunches it up into a ball and shoves it into his mouth. It’s crude but effective. Yassen admires the finesse of it all.

"Erfggh," Alex says, just to make a point.

Yassen rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes. You're mouthy. We know."

He lets one hand run its way up Alex's thigh—starting from the back of his knees, all the way up to the swell of his ass. Yassen has seen many people naked, but he is not immune to his own biases. Alex’s body is a marvel of human anatomy. Resilient and full of life, much like he is. His legs are long and his cheeks are generous. Yassen strokes the back of his fingers under the curve of Alex’s ass, and he hears a stutter in Alex’s breathing. He follows the curve until it dips in the middle, but he only skims his finger past the perineum, cupping the tent of Alex’s cock in his hands.

His cock is thick and hot under the fabric. Yassen could feel it pulsing against his fingers, straining to burst free. Gently, he pushes his hand towards his face, until Alex has to shuffle his feet back and he’s bent forward while his hands are still on the table. Yassen nudges the bottom of his blazer up. He kisses Alex’s lower back, tasting nothing but the luscious heat and salt of Alex’s skin.

Another hitch in Alex’s breathing. He is glad he’s not the only one enjoying this.

Yassen pulls away, but not completely. He lets his breath sink into Alex’s body.

“Top drawer on the right,” Yassen murmurs, his voice almost nothing but a deep rumble. “Pick a packet and open it.”

Yassen doesn’t need to elaborate on what. Either Alex will do as he’s told, or he will go in dry. Alex knows this.

Shuffling noise as Alex slides the drawer out. Yassen is having too much fun mouthing at Alex’s back to keep an eye out. There is nothing threatening in the drawer, however. Yassen’s already checked. He hears the tell-tale rip of the packet opening.

He tosses it over his shoulder.

Yassen catches it in the nick of time. “Bratty,” he notes. He squeezes Alex’s cock in warning.

Alex moans against his tie—a deep, guttural, absolutely  _ filthy _ moan. Then, almost realising the kind of sound escaping his chest, he stiffens.

Yassen almost chuckles. “I think we are past embarrassment now, are we not?”

Before Alex can say—or mumble—anything more, Yassen hoists Alex’s hips over his own. It takes a bit of juggling on both their parts. Yassen has to bite on the handle of his gun, and balance the packet of lube on one shoulder before he digs his fingers into Alex’s thighs. Alex puts his hand down in time, avoiding a good smack to his face, before resting on his forearms. With his thighs draped over Yassen’s, the result is Alex holding himself up in a wheelbarrow position while is hole is open and exposed to Yassen’s liking.

It’s wrinkled, in an endearing way. Like everything else of Alex Rider’s. It’s a strange thought to have, so Yassen brushes it aside as he squirts the cold lube over Alex’s hole.

Alex scrambles forward, yelping behind his tie.

Yassen takes the gun out of his mouth, and clamps his arm over Alex’s thigh, making sure Alex can see the gun in the corner of his vision. He slaps Alex’s ass with his other hand and watches as his muscles contract from the pain.

“Stay still,” Yassen says.

Alex’s breathing gets louder, but he doesn’t scramble away again. Yassen pats his ass in appreciation.

Then, slowly, he starts rubbing the lube over his hole. He massages it in slow, leisure circles, before he starts pressing his finger past the tight ring of muscle. It’s very much like playing an instrument. The further Yassen pushes, the louder Alex gets. Every stroke produces a reaction. Yassen can feel his own cock tightening as a result. He finally breaks through, and he can feel Alex bearing down as a result.

As if that is going to keep him out, Yassen thinks amusedly.

He starts teasing a second finger on his hole. Then, he pushes in and the sight is—addictive. Alex’s hole is puffy and stretched over his fingers. There is a deep part of him which purrs in contentment at the thought. He runs his fingers against Alex’s walls, coaxing as many interesting muffled noises from Alex as he can.

When Yassen finds his sweet spot, Alex’s arms start to shake. Yassen almost feels sorry for him. Sometimes, pleasure can be too much to handle. He rubs against it, knowing that the rough calluses at the tips of his fingers only adds to the sensation. Then, Yassen presses down with his fingers, and the muscles in Alex’s thighs visibly flexes, because Yassen is not a nice man.

“Bear down on my fingers.” Yassen says. He wiggles said fingers for emphasis.

Alex Rider is flushed. He is almost upside down, gagged with his own tie, heaving with a thin layer of sweat, and Yassen can still hear the,  _ ‘Are you kidding me?’  _ in his own head.

Yassen slips his fingers out. He smacks Alex—right on his hole instead. The sound is obscene, echoing in the room.

Alex’s hole twitches uncontrollably. He  _ moans. _

It’s an interesting response, but not so far fetched compared to everything else that’s been happening. When Yassen next slips his fingers back in and orders Alex to bear down, Alex does it. The walls of his muscles tighten, and Yassen is treated to a wonderful sight as he slowly pulls his fingers out.

He plants a trail of smacking kisses—from the edge of one ass to right beside Alex’s hole. “Very good,” Yassen praises. “You know, sometimes people only want to be listened to.”

Yassen doesn’t need to look to know that Alex is rolling his eyes. Yassen runs the tip of his tongue against Alex’s rim instead of replying.

Heat, lube, and the salt of his skin. He is delicious. A taste is not enough. The furled muscles yield under his persistent tongue. Yassen licks and licks and  _ licks.  _ He swirls his tongue in and out. He nibbles at the edges. He thrusts it against Alex’s walls. He pulls every trick in the book, listening after every swipe, savouring the taste, feel, and sound of Alex falling apart.

Alex’s body rises and falls like waves on a beach He doesn’t seem to know if he wants to pull away or push back further into his tongue. Good. Yassen will make it so that Alex is so overwhelmed with pleasure, he won’t pray to anyone else but Yassen as his god. 

Yassen is not done yet, however. No matter how much he’s enjoying himself, he’s still doing a job. He’s still looking for answers.

He frees Alex’s cock from the confine of his jock strap. Poor little thing—although calling it little would be doing an injustice. Yassen supposes—so frustrated and so leaky. He gives it a couple of slow strokes, enjoying the smooth feeling in his hands.

Then, using his other hand, he pushes the muzzle of his gun past the rim.

Alex freezes. This time, his shoulders begin to shake.

It’s a sight to behold—cold, hard, metal and all it’s hard ridges, disappearing into Alex’s body. He angles it around, rubbing the edge of the muzzle against the spot that makes Alex keen. Alex buckles, whimpering under him. How must it feel, Yassen wonders, to have your life in someone’s hands and to have them fuck you open with it.

When Alex comes, it’s going to be with Yassen’s gun up his ass, and because of  _ Yassen  _ being  the one who put it there.

“Alex,” Yassen says patiently. “It is important that you pay attention right now. I want to ask you some questions.”

Alex yells out a series of muffled noises—probably a whole line of curses. Which is very rude, considering that Yassen asked quite politely.

“Alex,” Yassen says. He jabs the gun in.

Alex whimpers again, thighs almost falling onto the floor. Yassen has to work to keep Alex from falling onto the floor.

“What did MI6 tell you to do with Peresvet?”

Disbelief saturates the air. Alex breathes heavily through his nose.

“This is important,” Yassen says. “I know you have a tongue. Use it. You never hesitate otherwise.” 

Alex shifts, spitting and pulling the soaked tie out of his mouth. “Fucking hell!” Alex says, voice ragged and worn. “You’re a fucking psychopath!”

“How were you planning to catch him, Alex?”

“You have a gun in my ass!”

Yassen taps his finger on the trigger.

“Fuck that and fuck you!” Alex says. “I’m not telling you jack-shit, you fucking cu—”

Yassen digs his nails into Alex’s cock. That was all Alex needed. He chokes a sob, his body strains and bends, until he’s spurting his load over his uniform, Yassen, the chair and the floor. Until he’s nothing but a messy, shaken, wrought-out pile of limbs.

Yassen gives Alex a couple of seconds to compose himself. He slips the gun out, catching the rim for his own amusement, and slides it back into his holster. He then tugs Alex up, until his back is against Yassen’s chest. Alex is loose-limbed and pliant, with his hair sticking to his forehead. He doesn’t fight as Yassen nudges his chin sideways. He pulls Alex into a kiss that’s—still sloppy and messy, given their position, but it’s softer and sweeter than he meant to give.

He can completely lose himself in Alex Rider, Yassen realises. Alex Rider and his smart mouth and stormy eyes. That is a dangerous thing. Yassen spent his whole life eliminating things that are dangerous to him. Alex, though—he'll need more than a measly hour if he's going to indulge himself with him. For now, he still has his own skin to save.

Once he pulls away from Alex’s gasping mouth, he asks again. “How were you supposed to catch him, Alex?”

For another minute, Yassen thought Alex was going to keep cursing him to hell and back. He might still, probably in his head, but Alex also says, “MI6 made sedative lube and condoms. I was supposed to surprise him in his room, and put them on myself. Then MI6 would’ve stormed the place down to arrest him.”

Yassen runs his hand down Alex’s side. “I suppose MI6 gave you the keycard to his room?”

Alex rests his head on Yassen’s shoulder, too weak to hold his own head up. “Yeah,” he says. “They did. They want me to do it tonight.”

Yassen suspects it’s not Peresvet’s room Alex has the keycard for. But he will keep the secret to himself, for now. He has until tonight to get rid of loose ends and disappear once more.

“Don’t worry about Peresvet,” Yassen says, brushing the wet strands of his fringe back. “I will deal with him. You worry about yourself tonight.”

Alex doesn’t outwardly say anything, but as Yassen pulls him into a final kiss, Alex presses back almost insistently.

**Author's Note:**

> I realised I messed up Alex's age so his age is up to you. Written as a fill to a kinkmeme.


End file.
